“In a bit.” I can barely keep still, but I busy myself by unlocking my phone screen and being a dick back to Artemis. Just ‘cause.
Goal Daddy: Did you get lost?
Goal Daddy: You’re not in Iowa anymore, Toto.
My stomach sinks after I hit send. What if something’s wrong? What if he’s hurt, or needs a friend? Guilt swirls through my chest as I turn to see him leaning against the driver-side door of his SUV parked outside the hockey house,with a casual smirk on his usually serious face. His energy hits like a sudden drop in temperature tingling against my face. I don’t think anything is wrong.
Artemis: I know exactly where I am, Xavier.
That alone sends a chill zipping up my spine, my breath catching in the cool winter air. I’mdefinitelyreading too much into it. But that feels like a threat, or a promise, I can’t determine which.
Artemis: Hurry the fuck up, Xavier.
Something about his little demands makes my cock stand to attention, so every step toward him becomes more and more painful. My footsteps crunch with every step, it’s not snow, yet, but that bite is in the air, making my breath steam.
Goal Daddy: Why?
Goal Daddy: In a rush?
I stop just out of arm’s reach, taking in how the night shadows still manage to highlight his strong features and make him look like a striking angel of darkness. A low growl rumbles deep inside him as he looks me dead in the eye. He’s bubbling with energy, an intensity radiating from him that I haven’t seen before.
“I am actually.”
I can’t help it. I poke the tall, dark, and handsome bear. “Oh, yeah? Got tickets for a late show or something?” I tip my head to the side, something I’ve noticed drives him a little mad. He always flares his nostrils, clenches his teeth, or wiggles his fingers like he wants to reach out and put my head back upright.
“The more you talk shit the less I want to fuck you.” His voice drops. He examines his nails like what he says is no big deal, but from the way his chest heaves, I can tell he’s doing all he can not to rail me right here where we both stand.
And I don’t believe him, I think the more shit I talk, themorehe wants to fuck me.
My dick is nowveryinterested in the conversation. It’s practically reaching out to the man standing in a winter coat looking at me right in the fucking eyes. It’s breathtaking. Having his entire attention rips into my chest and jiggles all my organs around.
I want to have chill. But I have zero chill around this guy. And it’s clear I can’t breathe until I get this out of my system. And by this, I obviously mean… him. Fuck. He’s here to fuck me? Really?
He certainly looks like he’s ready to eat me alive, and I can’t take my eyes away from the way he drags his tongue across his bottom lip.
“Get in the fucking car, Xavier.” His precision is turning feral, fraying at the edges right in front of my eyes.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something funny, to push back, make him wait, make him work for it. But I don’t want him to flee. It’s taken a lot for him to come here, I know that much. And I also know that I want to fuck him, or be fucked by him. Either way, I want the fucking. So I go against my natural instinct to be a punk and get in the fucking car.
The drive to wherever we’re going is quiet, strained with so much sexual tension I almost blow my load in my pants. But one of us has already done that, and I’m not generally one for following where someone else has already been. I like to blaze my own path.
Streetlights strobe through the windows, catching on my pant leg as my knee bounces. I’m not the only one affected, Artemis is gripping the steering wheel just a liiiiittle too hard.Does he want to touch me as much as I want to touch him? Is that why his knuckles are so white?
By the time we pull up in front of a house in the burbs, my whole body is quivering with anticipation. I’m half-convinced this is a dream. A suburban porch with a light, a Christmas wreath already on the door, and two beautiful poinsettias welcome us to whatever bizarro world I’ve stepped into.
I barely have the car door open, and he’s tugging me out of the vehicle, down the garden path, and through the front door, which he opens with a fucking key. Interesting.
I don’t ask, but I want to. Does he own this place? If so, why? A more likely situation is that he hired a temporary rental as it’s less public than a hotel. A barb of shame and frustration at the fact he’s hiding me slithers under my skin, but not even that is enough to counter the buzzing heat fluttering and growing through my entire being.
The door is barely closed behind me, the sound echoing in an empty hallway, when he pounces. He slams his palm against the door next to my head, as if to ensure its closed, but the frustrated grunt that accompanies it tells me there’s a little piece of him that doesn’t want this or regrets it before it’s even happened.
That leaves me with a choice: do I walk away knowing he’ll probably ghost me all over again tomorrow? Or do I say fuck it and dip my toe in the holy fountain of de la Peña?
His breath tickles the shell of my ear as he sucks in shaky mouthfuls of air. His strong palm cups my throat, not choking, just a little pressure and the thrum of my pulse against his hand. He forces my chin up, and my head to rest against the heavy wooden door. He scans my face, seemingly looking for imperfections, or the answer to an age-old question, who the fuck knows?
I shift under his unrelenting stare. No one has ever… observed me, no,studiedme like this before, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
His grumbling chest rumbles against mine, sending little lightning bolts of a deep, aching desire dancing all over my body. I don’t know which part of me is more turned on, they’re all lighting up at once.
